


Greased; or, the Love Story of Aaron Paul, Pizza, and Bryan Cranston

by Porkchop_Sandwiches



Series: Greased [1]
Category: Breaking Bad, Breaking Bad RPF
Genre: M/M, Slow Build, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porkchop_Sandwiches/pseuds/Porkchop_Sandwiches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron palmed the base of his neck, taking a peek at him, in such timid opposition of how he normally completely turned to face Bryan when Bryan spoke as if he were giving him every tiny modicum of his attention.</p>
<p>Bryan honestly couldn’t believe what Aaron had said, wasn’t exactly proud of how it made the inside of his ribcage feel like it was lit up like Dodger Stadium, wasn’t positive if he should say what he wanted to say.</p>
<p>He playfully smacked Aaron on the shoulder. “No shit? That’s something.” </p>
<p>Bryan smiled, still holding Aaron’s arm. “You’re mine too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not one for long author's notes, but this story needs one. My one and only excuse for writing this is that I just love the two of them together. Oh, and also, I'm a total creep. As a bit of a warning, which you'll see for yourself in this first chapter, significant others are mentioned (and later featured), but in a moderately tasteful way. Okay, so my version of tasteful. This is set right before and then during the filming of Season 5 Part 1. I'm imagining it as early 2012. P.S. This is going to be a weird ride, yo.

Bryan couldn’t quite recall the last thing he’d said, only that it had made Aaron laugh. And, it wasn’t a courteous chuckle or pandering chortle, but one of those clapping-his-hands-once and tipping-his-head-back-with-his-eyes-shut laughs that kept Bryan’s spirits up much more than the dwindling distilled spirits in his Hampton Inn frosted glass tumbler.

Aaron’s laughter was a welcome, comforting presence in a twelve-hour bombardment of _Breaking Bad_ press junkets in Manhattan. Granted they’d been given a forty-minute interlude for room service pizza where they were sequestered off into a private suite with a two-chaired, set table waiting for them: white table cloth, white chairs, white rose in a tall-necked vase placed in the center. The table was positioned by a window with the shades drawn, overlooking the jumbled, cramped, impressive spectacle that was Times Square, and the dimmer switch to the overhead was set romantically low for some undiscernible reason. Aaron, gracious as ever, had thanked the wait staff continuously before they stepped out. Even when they were gone, Aaron had commented about how nice the space was and how it was, as he put it with a faint smirk, “The perfect setting for a bromance.” Bryan nodded and made some quip about how all that was really missing was a Pandora station tuned to Barry White and a bottle of lube and they might just have to call it a day. Aaron had laughed with a generous mouthful of peperoni and black olives, bottom lip slick with grease. And Bryan had wondered if the fifth of Bushmills Irish Whiskey they’d been “sampling” all afternoon was the culprit for such an observation.

But, eyeing Aaron’s mouth had reminded him of, well, Aaron laughing again. Bryan wasn’t sure why, but the sound seemed to soothe every one of his senses. That contrast of a crackling, deep boom with how it petered off into something nearly silent satiated Bryan’s entire being like one of those baby toys made up of all kinds of fabrics, from some sort of crinkly, sparkly material to soft velour to maybe a rounded plastic end. Robin had given Taylor one shaped like a caterpillar when their daughter was an infant, and it was something that encouraged kind of a safe exploration of different sounds and textures during that phase when anything and everything foreign would end up in her mouth.

Today’s sort of overarching theme of question-and-answer interactions was YouTube personalities. No official press or professional media outlets were involved. Everyone there had their own YouTube channel and a love for the show. And, while the concept of being interviewed solely by fans had initially been incredibly flattering and intriguing, there was a level of monotony that Bryan wouldn’t admit to aloud though was certainly a reality. Plus, they’d been stuck inside the same hotel suite for what felt like ages as people filtered in and out of the living room area where they’d been provided with hard backed plastic chairs. The television was on the fritz, something that was emphatically apologized for by a man pretty high up in management who appeared incredibly nervous in a grey suit and slick loafers. Bryan hadn’t even noticed the set mounted to the left of the red arm chairs and sofa. Between interviews, he’d been fairly preoccupied listening to Aaron talk about his most recent trip to England. His eyes had also been drawn to a framed photograph on the wall of a single pink flower opened with the bud exposed and the focus purposefully blurry. After a few drinks, the picture was a little disconcerting, almost gave him a headache. Not to mention all of the internet language being thrown around was mostly a string of letters like “FTW” and “SMH,” which Bryan had no idea of their meanings. And, if he was going to feel like a clueless child, it was an immense relief to have the relaxing soundtrack of Aaron’s voice tucked as close to him as a multi-colored plush caterpillar.

With four seasons of the show behind them and a fifth to start filming in mere weeks, they were more than accustomed to the kind of questions people tended to ask. While Bryan was never one to mix drinking and work, this was day six of and week-long string of junkets all over California and now New York. And for god’s sake, he wasn’t just going to turn down that Bushmills from the redhead in square-framed glasses and a plaid shirt who apparently hosted a YouTube channel with her six-year-old niece and a labradoodle. Maybe starting a drinking game _before_ lunch hadn’t been the best of his decisions, nor was it to double the stakes once they were sufficiently loaded up with carbs. But, it was just too tempting not to conspire with Aaron during their brief bursts of downtime, agree on things like Bryan’s idea of, “Every time someone asks about your dad being a Baptist minister, take a drink” or Aaron’s, “Whenever someone asks if doing comedy in _Malcolm in the Middle_ was harder or easier, take a drink” or Bryan’s challenge of, “If someone asks to get called a bitch, _you_ have to finish your drink.” _Whew,_ that last one had Aaron rosy around the neck, the color creeping up the beginnings of a beard he’d scratch with his eyes to the side every so often.

Bryan was feeling it too, relieved and mildly disappointed that they were waiting for the very last interview of the day. At this point in the evening, they were punchy and sniggering. Aaron had his legs loosely crossed, wearing dark denim and a white button-down suctioned to his frame like the condensation on their glasses. Bryan, becoming aware again of their lone ice cubes, poured three fingers for Aaron before doing the same for himself.

Aaron had found some reading material he was balancing in his lap. He glanced up and smiled. “Thanks, man. But, uh,” he snickered, “Being all honest here, I’m getting kind of drunk.”

Bryan touched the etched lettering on the side of his glass, took a sip, and spoke around an ice chip, “You don’t say.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know you, you know,” Bryan said most articulately.

He traced a light hand across Aaron’s throat because his chair was right next to his and it wasn’t like they hadn’t been trading the occasional brush of the shoulder or knee in natural points of conversation the whole day. It wasn’t an official drinking game rule, but it seemed there was an underlying understanding of, “If someone asks about how you feel about the finale coming up, take my hand.” And, that reassuring pat or rub along his knuckles had been a remarkably effective strategy for keeping this day off his list of times he got emotional on camera about _Breaking Bad_ , which was an extremely lengthy list.

With his fingers tracing the warm, thumping skin of Aaron’s neck, he’d subconsciously leaned an inch closer. “You’re all red here. It always happens when you’ve had a few.”

Aaron giggled, tucking his chin down atop of Bryan’s hand, which Bryan chose to wiggle for effect. “Stop, man. I’m trying to do some actual prep-work.”

Bryan pulled back to cup his drink in both hands as if it were a warm beverage. “You’re telling me there’s prep-work for a questionnaire given by sixteen-year-old male German triplets who flew in from Oregon and have a channel on woodworking and foreign film reviews?”

“You can’t forget their podcasts about 80s Nintendo games,” Aaron said. He held up three sheets of stapled papers. “The guys left us some questions to prepare for, so our answers are more thought out or whatever. So, you know, get to reading.”

“Yes, Mr. Paul. I’ll get on that right away.” Bryan smiled and retrieved the packet by the side table he hadn’t yet noticed.

The font was something harsh and tiny, and it was unacceptable how utterly old it made him feel trying to make out even the underlined sentence at the top.

Aaron grumbled something. “Oh shit, I fucking hate this question. Look at number seven: ‘Is there a film or television show you’ve worked on that you now regret?’”

Aaron flicked his eyes to Bryan’s face. “It’s like they’re basically asking, ‘Hey, can you please sound like an ungrateful asshole for us and indirectly insult an entire film crew, director, and screenwriter because _you_ are unhappy about a role that butterfly effect rippled over to other career opportunities in ways you can’t even understand or explain?’ I mean, you know…that’s pretty messed up. There’s no way I could even think of an answer to this.”

Bryan shrugged and splayed his arms out in a non-threating way. “Come on, cut the bullshit. It’s just me here. There’s got to be _something_ , some job you weren’t _completely_ thrilled about.”

Bryan tapped the illegible stack against his knee, and noted the way Aaron fidgeted in his seat with his hand absently running up and down the outside of his leg.

Aaron cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly. “Okay, so maybe _Daydreamer_ read a lot better than it was executed.”

“Remind me of that one again,” Bryan said, squinting.

“It’s a psychological thriller where I’m this guy who blacks out every night sort of in the same vein as _Memento_ except I’m a normally shitty person who does nice stuff when I’m out of it instead of a seemingly decent dude who does fucked up stuff when they’re…blacked out.” Aaron shrugged too. “I don’t know. The story was good. It was just like the pacing wasn’t tight enough.”

Bryan snapped his fingers. “ _Oh,_ is this the one where you have the….”

He ran his palm down the front of Aaron’s shirt, patting the flat plane of his belly for the sole purpose of hearing Aaron giggle again. “…The fake nipple piercings?”

“Uh, _of course_ ,” Aaron said and wiggled with another gasp of a laugh. “But, you know, there’s a lot more going on in the film besides my nipple jewelry.”

Bryan squinted, cocking his head to the side with one shoulder raised. “That’s debatable. Also, it’s most likely hotly debated over on the message boards of IMDb.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron said, tipping his glass to his quirked lips. “You know, that’s what I always wanted from this career: strangers discussing my nipples on the internet.”

“ _Ooh,_ ” Bryan said. He patted Aaron’s chest. “You should work that naturally into the interview. Or maybe just open with it regardless.”

Aaron chuckled. “I’ll be sure to do that. But, uh, how about _you_ answer the question now.”

“Me?” Bryan stretched in his chair, craned his shoulders back, and puffed some air into his cheeks. Intoning a serious voice, he said, “You know I really couldn’t say. I’ve so enjoyed the people I’ve worked with and every project has been a learning process along the journey. Answering something like that would be flat-out rude.”

Aaron curled his tongue back to his molars, nodding with his mouth open. “Fuck you, man, fuck you.”

Bryan laughed and clapped the side of Aaron’s face who was laughing as well. Aaron half-heartedly made a motion as if to swat his arm away, though his fingers instead lingered on Bryan’s wrist before dropping into his lap. Bryan took another pull from his glass. It was empty again, but he’d had enough for now. He could hear an elevator somewhere and a door close and several people walking down the hall.

“Oh man, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Aaron seemed to say to himself, wiping his mouth.

“What?”

He glanced over. “Nothing.”

Bryan flipped to the page Aaron looked to be on, feigning an ability to garner anything and sincerely reminding himself to visit the eye doctor.

Aaron set his right leg down to cross the left one over it. He scratched at the back of his neck. “I was just reading number nine: ‘When was the last time you had a non-work-related conversation about your co-star? Who was it with? What did it concern?’ That’s kind of a mouthful.”

“And, _extremely_ difficult to answer since I assume you talk about me downright _inessentially_ ,” Bryan said, chuckling and wagging his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah, brother. It’s nonstop.” He smiled. “Almost disgusting, really.”

Aaron finished his drink, studying the packet on his knee. “I uh, sort of did talk about you last night.”

Bryan exaggeratedly narrowed his eyes. “Last night? In the Marriot? So, was this with the bellhop or the concierge?”

“No.” Aaron huffed out a laugh. He tugged out the top two buttons on his shirt and raked his nails across the alcohol-inflamed skin there. “I was on the phone with Lauren.”

Bryan found it disturbing how oddly transfixed he was with such an innocent gesture. He’d seen Aaron shirtless a number of times. How _drunk_ was he?

“You know, my _fiancée_ , Lauren?” Aaron seemed to be saying.

Bryan waved for him to continue. “Yes, of course: Lauren, your fiancée.”

“ _Wow_ , real smooth, Cranston. Good job at repeating everything I just said to make it sound like you were paying attention.” Aaron snickered and bopped Bryan on the head with his questionnaire.

Bryan made a putout kind of frown. “I’m one hundred percent listening. Of course I know Lauren: your stunning blonde fiancée whom you proposed to in Paris and whom I’ve met.”

Aaron tilted his chin down like he was waiting for more. “Yeah, whom you’ve met on _several_ occasions.”

“Yes.”

“We on the same page now?” Aaron said.

“Right on.” Bryan flapped the paper in front of him.

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Right, so I called Lauren last night just to catch up. She’s in Louisiana, visiting this middle school for Kind Campaign. It’s, you know, hard being away from each other so long. And, we started talking about the wedding, and all the preparations, and missing each other. She asked me how everything was going and she asked about you.”

He was in that place where he was talking with his hands a lot and staring at the carpet. He rubbed the heels of both hands into his eyes. His yawn ended in an uncertain grin. “Hey, I don’t know if this is the whiskey talking or something, but it’s, well, sort of bizarre territory.”

“More bizarre than our five AM, two-hour discussion on what we’d do with an ocean filled with queso?”

Aaron shook his head, faux-appalled. “I thought we clearly agreed to eat it with shiploads of tortilla chips from Sadie’s until we both died of simultaneous heart attacks.”

He slipped an ice cube in his mouth. “How silly of me to forget such a thing.”

“I know, right?” Aaron chuckled. He coughed. “So, anyway.”

Aaron scuffed the bottom of his sneaker against the rug. “We were talking about what it might feel like once we’re married and uh, me filming on location and other actor’s marriages. And somehow the conversation came around to you. And…”

He chuckled again. “She said…you were my one free pass with…you know.”

Aaron palmed the base of his neck, taking a peek at him, in such timid opposition of how he normally completely turned to face Bryan when Bryan spoke as if Aaron were giving him every tiny modicum of his attention.

Bryan honestly couldn’t believe what Aaron had said, wasn’t exactly proud of how it made the inside of his ribcage feel like it was lit up like Dodger Stadium, wasn’t positive if he should say what he wanted to say.

He playfully smacked Aaron on the shoulder. “No shit? That’s something.”

Bryan smiled, still holding Aaron’s arm. “You’re mine too.”

He could instantly tell from the way Aaron’s eyes rounded out, mouth opening, body stilling, that he’d done something wrong. While the admission itself wasn’t inherently erroneous or anything and it was honest, he’d been much too sincere about it all. He had wanted to tell Aaron this for some time, most likely as a passing joke. But, now he’d fucked up the delivery.

Before he could do other take, maybe in some way delete the last two minutes, three tall, shaggy-haired triplets walked in the room in a variety of grey turtlenecks and black porkpie hats. The interview itself only lasted five minutes or so and centered mostly on playing the newest Mario Kart on X-Box and how it was different from something or other. Bryan was pretty out of his element, so he let Aaron do most of the talking. And, he was his usual charming self, chatty and complimentary. But, knowing Aaron for as long as he’d had, he could tell that to a certain degree, he was anxious: chewing his lip more than normal, picking at his cuticles, nodding a lot. When it was all over, he’d affectionately, as per their request, called each of them a bitch with that consonant-pounding emphasis that made Aaron sound so much like Aaron.   

And, after each, he’d done a shot of Bushmills at the triplets’ encouraging hoots and cheers, emptying the fifth.

With the room empty, Aaron turned to him, smiled, and set a hand a smidge higher on Bryan’s thigh than was custom. “Want to grab dinner with me?”

Since when did the word “dinner” sound so similar to “your dick”?

Bryan swallowed and nodded for good measure. “Absolutely.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably the most serious this story is going to get, and then it will be much lighter, though still sexually tense because I do stress that this story has a pretty slow buildup to pants-less time. But, I promise there will be fun pants-less times in the future. Thank you for all the kudos and interest in the story :)

“Thank you so much, ma’am. I love you too. Have a lovely evening,” Aaron said.

He waved to the elderly woman in the jogging outfit exiting through the Hampton Inn gift shop and blew her a kiss. She proudly displayed her signed copy of _The Hollywood Reporter_ where he was posed on the floor and sitting to next to Bryan in a chair, Anna standing behind him, Vince on Bryan’s other side. This super nice lady had walked right up to him in the toiletry section and had practically gushed about how crazy she was about the show. She’d had a copy of the magazine in her gym bag and asked for an autograph. Of course he was happy to sign it, and yeah, he’d for sure called her a bitch too since she asked and everything.

It was a little awkward doing it in front of a middle-aged couple, matching heads of thinning brown hair and purple ‘I Heart New York” sweatshirts who were frantically rummaging through the display of other tourist paraphernalia like they were Black Friday shopping. But, they’d actually laughed and paused their kind of loud argument about whether or not Alice would appreciate an Empire State Building snow globe to briskly walk over to him. The guy was scrambling around in his pockets like he was late for work and looking for his keys.

“Hey,” Aaron said.

He hoped they didn’t notice him leaning a little against a raised bin of Statue of Liberty fuzzy tube socks. It was getting muggy underneath the black hoodie/black leather jacket combo he’d tossed on to go outside for dinner that ended up being some awesome Korean-style Mongolian beef, street vendor pizza. They stopped by a bar Bryan hadn’t been to since the early 80s. Aaron couldn’t remember the name of it, though the place was freakishly, like sunlamp-bright with lots of pale wood and it had been completely packed with dudes over fifty, and Aaron had worn his hood up with his sunglasses on the whole time. “You look like a very handsome Unabomber,” Bryan had shouted over the weirdly loud jukebox playing a creepy George Michael song that he was still trying to place. Bryan sipped an exceptionally bitter local IPA he’d let Aaron taste while the bartender fixed him an old fashioned. Aaron had one or two…all right, maybe three or four. Yeah, so this room with the glass walls and colorful shit everywhere was starting to make him feel like he was in the inside of a snow globe. It was no biggie. He was going to act so sober that sober was going to call Aaron up to ask him if Aaron would play him in a movie.

“Dear god,” he muttered and smeared a hand across his face. He was hammered.

“Hi, I’m Michael. This is my wife, Tiffany. We’re such huge fans of _Breaking_ Bad. Could we bother you for a quick picture?” The guy held out his previously elusive iPhone he’d managed to pry from his pocket.

Aaron nodded at what he wanted to be an appropriate speed though everything was a little slower and jostled like the air was full of that mystery glitter-water. “Sure, man. I’d love to. It’s no problem at all.”

“I can’t believe we saw you,” Tiffany said.

“Yeah, it’s great to meet you guys.”

They moved to either side of him with a choreographed fluidity that made Aaron think they might have a photo album somewhere packed with similarly posed celebrity encounters. Michael held out his phone for a selfie and Aaron put an arm around each of them and smiled.

Somewhere to the left, a cell phone started playing “We Are Family” and Tiffany jogged back to the sound, unearthed her phone from a wad of t-shirts and hissed, “It’s fucking Alice” with a frown at her husband.

“Where are you guys from?” Aaron said.

Michael’s thumbs were all over his screen on a mostly white and blue page that looked like Facebook. He glanced up, dumbstruck as if he forgot Aaron was there. Or maybe he assumed Aaron was just going to bolt after the picture.

Michael coughed. “Born and bred in Wyoming. The misses is originally from Virginia, but she moved out West when she was in junior high. We’ve been together since freshman year and tied the knot right after we graduated. We’re actually celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary.”

Aaron enthusiastically patted him on the back and grinned. “Congratulations! I hope….”

“Michael, we’re going to miss the beginning of _Mad Men._ ” Tiffany was already by the door with a shopping bag brimming with souvenirs.

Michael held out a hand. “In a minute, sweetheart.”

He turned to Aaron, hunched a little t _oo_ much in his personal space, especially with Aaron’s breath smelling like whiskey, cherries, and orange peels, though mostly whiskey.

“I have a bit of an oddball request for you.” Michael was whispering. He was avoiding eye contact with his wife and giving Aaron a super weird look with his face still really close, and it was _pretty_ obvious they would be spending the night at the same hotel. This risked getting very strange, very fast. “When I walk out of the store, I want you….”

“ _Michael_.” Tiffany waved her weighted-down, crinkly paper bag. “You know if we don’t see the first few minutes, we’ll be silly mad at ourselves and just plum clueless the rest of the episode.”

“I _know_ ,” he said, shooting her a smile. He slid his phone in his back pocket and faced Aaron again. “When I walk out of the store it would mean the world to me if you could call Tiffany a bitch. But, say it like it was your idea, not mine. You’ll be doing me a doozy of a favor for…the way…I’m hoping this evening will turn out, if you catch my drift.”

The dude was blushing. “ _Please,_ I _really, really_ need this.”

Aaron chuckled. “Yeah, man, I got you. No worries. It was nice meeting you.”

Michael nodded and strode past his wife who looked pretty confused.

Aaron waved to her with a grin. “Goodnight, you beautiful, _beautiful_ bitch.”

Tiffany’s face went red as she made a small creaky door noise. Then she smiled and giggled, shuffled her bag to the other arm, and gave Aaron a flustered wave before nearly walking into a display of M & Ms. A few seconds later, Michael popped his head back into frame and mouthed a desperate “Thank you” like a man saved from falling off a damn cliff.

Aaron shook his head and felt the room quiver. He banged his elbow against something sharp and metal and heard a series of crunchy sounds. And, he turned to an entire shelf of gummy bears on the carpet. _Oh man_ , he couldn’t just be knocking shit down and yelling “bitch” in public if he ever wanted to get booked for Sober’s biopic life journey. Wasn’t this how Shia LaBeouf got arrested that one time in a convenience store somewhere? He walked into a Walgreens for a pack of smokes when he was plastered and wound up upending candy and other Walgreens-y merchandise?

He wasn’t sure, but he snapped down to his knees and started scooping everything up in his arms to put them back where they belonged. _Oh shit_ ,that’s right, he’d told Bryan he was going in here for some Parliaments and that he didn’t need to wait for him. With the old lady and getting sandwiched literally between a married couple and then figuratively in their sex life, he’d completely forgotten the reason he was even in here. It wasn’t for cigarettes or gummy bears. He stared at the last pack of Haribo on the floor, shrugged, and grabbed it as he walked further down the aisle.

Before he was ready for it really, he was staring at what he’d originally been looking for: an assortment of condoms and lube. Because, _damn it, Cranston_ , the man had his drunk brain bleeping out signals to his crotch, booting up scenarios that Aaron had only shared with his right hand. While Aaron had no problems at all being a touchy-feely kind of dude and Bryan being one too, there was something different over drinks that night. They’d sat at the bar and the only way Aaron could hear Bryan over the music was for them was to sit face-to-face. _Man,_ it was seriously gross-packed in there. Some guy in a baby blue legit Member’s Only jacket had accidentally shoved Bryan mid-animated story about how much he was starting to hate kale and Bryan’s leg had slotted itself between his. It was warm through the slacks Bryan was wearing. He was dressed much nicer than Aaron, as usual, with a white shirt under a dark blazer. Bryan had just left his thigh there, going on about Robin’s insistence that he drink a green shake every morning. Aaron had felt particularly filthy, picturing himself tilting up into Bryan’s knee. Because he was pretty sure dry-humping a guy in a crowded bar while he talked about his wife was a pretty sleazy thing to do.

 _Fuck_ , Bryan was married. Aaron was over-the-moon, happily engaged to the most gorgeous woman on the planet. Why the hell was he perusing lubricants?

Maybe because that wonderful woman had caught him smiling a tad too hard whenever anyone brought Bryan up into conversation, which was usually Aaron himself. Then she’d ever-so-calmly given him permission, encouragement actually, to go make love to his best friend. They were both, as Bryan had said while he shivered on the walk back, “Sufficiently sauced,” and their rooms were right next to each other’s, and Bryan’s _fucking_ leg had been between his for the good part of an hour.

But, _holy shit_ , theoretically talking about sleeping with Bryan was a good Mario-sized leap and a bound away from strolling into a store for lube. Bryan was already in his mid-twenties when Mario was first created. The idea threw Aaron a little, because Bryan was twenty-three years older than him and it was sort of weird.

Aaron wished he had a saying or something to express what he was feeling. There were so many of those things, most of them disgusting, for wanting to bang someone younger: “Old enough to chew, old enough to screw,” “Old enough to read, old enough to breed,” “If there’s grass on the field, play ball.”

He absently swatted at a heat-activating formula of K.Y. and figured Bryan might like that last one about the field and the balls. Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d been in here for at least ten minutes. He idly scanned his eyes over the wide selection of condoms and was kind of bugging out at the concept of buying them for a dick that didn’t belong to him. Even though this wasn’t politically correct for relationships like these, Aaron had no doubt in his mind he was going to be “the girl” in this scenario. Or maybe a better way to word for it was “catcher.” And _really,_ where was Bryan when he was hitting a grand slam with all of these baseball-themed sex puns?

Aaron snatched a Trojan variety pack and an extra-large tube of a familiar off-brand lube promising to be water-resistant, because shower sex with Bryan Cranston sounded pretty amazing. And, he knew it worked from a couple of personal experiences on the receiving end of this stuff way back when he was eighteen and L.A. was both scary-as-shit and the best place in the world. So yeah, he didn’t try beer until was nineteen and he was around twenty-three or twenty-four when he started saying “fuck.” That didn’t mean he wasn’t experimenting with stuff in hot tubs that included a broad chest against his back, a beard grating against the crook of his neck, a large hand dipping into the water and past his hipbone.    

He wondered if Bryan had done stuff with a guy before. The man did grow up in the 70s. Didn’t guys have super long hair and chicks packed a ton of pubes? Maybe shit could get confusing when you’re baked out of your mind and no one knows anyone’s name and everybody’s horny. Aaron guessed that 70s penises were still penises and that’s kind of a difficult thing to overlook regardless of the amount of carpet down there.

Turning to the front of the store, he made to walk to the register. He was blocked by Bryan standing there with a smile.

“Well,” Bryan said. “I was going to ask about your plans for the rest of the night. But, I’m not sure if I want to know now.”

 _Shit,_ Aaron was holding sex-prep accessories and a pack of gummy bears.

“I thought I said,” Aaron started, but didn’t want to sound rude. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

Bryan shrugged. “I wanted to.”

At Aaron’s probably _way_ too flattered expression, Bryan screwed his mouth to the side, lifted his eyebrows, and tagged on, “And anyway, walking to a hotel room by yourself when you’re sloshed makes you feel like some lonely, pathetic sot.”

Aaron dropped his arms as if they were lower than his waist, Bryan would forget about his shopping items and that his limbs even existed. “What’s a sot?”

Bryan smiled again. “It’s another word for a lush.”

Aaron gave him a confused smile back. “What’s a lush?”

“Oh, _come on_.” Bryan laughed and playfully smacked Aaron on the chest. “You know what a lush is.”

He held his arms out, nodding, expecting an answer, until he barked out another laugh. “A lush is another word for a drunk. It’s a term we old people use from time to time. My god, I feel like I’m seventy years old right now.”

“ _No_ ,” Aaron said emphatically, sarcastically, loudly. “You don’t look a day over sixty.”

“Why, thank you,” Bryan said. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room, watching Charlie Rose on my Rascal Scooter, eating an enormous tub of prunes.”

“Yeah, man, sounds like a solid plan to me.” Aaron smirked.

Bryan rolled his eyes and _oh so_ casually looked down at what Aaron was holding one last time with a barely-there smirk before he said goodnight and exited through the gift shop.

Aaron had seen that saying: “exit through the gift shop” in a bunch of museums when he was in England. He’d thought about Bryan every day. And, now if he grew some damn balls, he could possibly get the opportunity to make this thing happen.

Apparently, his brain made the creative decision to translate “grow some damn balls” into buying the stuff already, stripping his clothes off in his hotel room, and creeping over to Bryan’s room in nothing but a bathrobe.

He spent who knows how long drunkenly staring at a flower-shaped light fixture, debating how loose or tight he should have his robe tied. Was two knots too much or was one a little too “Come and get it?” Well, he _was_ walking to the man’s room at night in a motherfucking bathrobe, even putting on some cologne and Chap Stick with his purchases other than the gummy bears in his pockets. Didn’t he want Bryan to come and get it?

Aaron toed the carpet and tried to will the door open when he spotted Bryan walking towards him down the hall as if he’d popped out of his room like fucking David Blaine or something. He was carrying an ice bucket, dressed in grey sweat pants and a baggy black shirt.

“Aaron?” Bryan looked clearly surprised. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, man,” Aaron said. His voice was shaky. He scratched at his face. “I uh, you know, just wanted to talk. Can…can I come in?”

Aaron had no idea where to look all of a sudden. But, in the brief second he decided that checking Bryan’s face was a cool choice, he’d sworn he saw Bryan’s eyes move up and down his body.

“Yes, of course,” Bryan said.

Aaron sighed as Bryan got his room open with his card swipe-thing and held the door for him because he was Bryan. Though Aaron kind of stayed just beyond the threshold and let Bryan pass him to walk deeper into the room. It was identical to Aaron’s: furniture in shades of red and gold, small living room attached to the bed room, flat screen television mounted on the wall. His was playing an episode of _Friends_.

“Can I get you something?” Bryan was lounging on the couch.

Aaron shook his head with his arms crossed and just focused on the screen as if _way over here_ was a totally typical place to watch T.V.

Bryan laughed, and the clinking of ice in a glass made Aaron shift his attention. He was pouring himself some water from a Dasani bottle.

Aaron smiled because Bryan was still laughing. “What?”

Bryan shook his head, and sipped his water. He draped his arm over the back of the sofa. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But, with how you’re just standing over there, well, it reminds me of this story I’d heard about Tennessee Williams.”

He paused as if checking to see if it was all right from him to keep going, and of course it was because Aaron always loved hearing Bryan talk, even about writers he personally didn’t know a ton about. He knew a lot more than he did five years ago considering Bryan made Tennessee Williams references about as often as possible.    

“Well, Warren Beatty had auditioned for a role in Tennessee’s film, _The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone_. He’d auditioned and gotten the part. But, for whatever reason, he’d allegedly showed up at the door of Tennessee’s hotel room that night in a bathrobe…”

Bryan teasingly deepened his voice. “…In hopes of seducing him.”

He cracked a goofy sort of grin. “I’m sure that’s what’s happening here, right?”

Aaron rocked his weight to the heels of his feet, furrowed his eyebrows, and tried to smile. “Would it be okay if it was?”

 _Shit_ , that taking-it-easy, everything’s-chill, we’re-still-playing-around expression on Bryan’s face completely sagged like clammy, overly-microwaved leftover pizza.

Aaron coughed. “I mean, were you being serious before?”

“Yes. I was extremely serious.” Bryan said it with no hesitance. He leaned forward, and nodded with his tongue tucked between his teeth and his bottom lip. With his hands together, he looked up at Aaron. “Are you…being serious?”

Aaron had a fleeting feeling of nausea and a delayed acidy aftertaste of whiskey-soaked-orange peels. He crossed his arms closer to his chest, inhaled hard and tried to subdue the ticks going on with his eyes right about now that were forecasting a killer high chance of precipitation.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

Bryan framed the air in front of him with his fingers, one eye open. “All right, can I have you run that line once more, but perhaps flinch _a little bit_ harder this time?”

“Hey,” Aaron said, biting his lip. “It’s not like I’m not having a hard time believing you either. I mean, like, did Robin just say, ‘Hey, Bryan, you know how we’ve been married for twenty-something years? And, that we’re very happy together? Well, you know that guy Aaron? You should totally go fuck him.’”

Bryan squinted. “So, what you’re implying is that my wife has a habit of asking me incredibly obvious questions?”          

Aaron was already getting too choked up to laugh, so he settled for a weak excuse for a smile.

“No, Robin didn’t advise me to quote ‘go fuck you.’ She is simply secure enough in what she and I have together in our relationship to trust me. And, she’s quite aware of how deeply I love you.”

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” Aaron said. He could feel every muscle from forehead to chin seize and squeeze in together, and he was for sure crying.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Bryan was standing up with his arm stretched out, his own face just remorseful as hell.

“ _Aaron_.” The volume of his voice was one bar above mute, like talking any louder might set Aaron off to the point of blubbering. He took a step past the coffee table.

“No, man,” Aaron said. He had one hand pressed into his eye and waved Bryan back with the other. “I need…I need you to stay over there. Please, just uh, don’t…don’t….”

And, _here_ was the blubbering.

Bryan had both arms raised now, soft, understanding, patient expression conveying every ounce of comfort that Aaron was so desperately wanting. “Aaron, I can’t just drop something like that on you and then stand here. I’d be an asshole.”

Another sob and Aaron was looking for any outlet for lightness, something jokey, because feeling shitty and all kinds of confused was one thing. Making Bryan feel bad just wasn’t acceptable.    

“It’s not your fault.” He glanced at the T.V. and lifted his arm to cup his shoulder as he nodded to the screen. “You know how I get about All State commercials.”

Bryan smiled courteously and moved to the arm chair just a few feet away. “ _Aaron_.”

He found himself backing into the wall behind him. Rubbing at his nose, he shut his eyes and tucked his chin down. “I’m sorry. I love you so much. And…I just…don’t…don’t want to fuck this up.”

The massive, strong weight suddenly palming his upper arm and the deliriously familiar smell of Old Spice was making Aaron feel better and worse at the same time.

“ _Hey_ ,” Bryan whispered. “Don’t ever think that you’re even capable of doing _anything_ to fuck up the way I feel about you.”

Aaron could feel Bryan’s breath on his forehead. Then his lips were there. Aaron’s mouth parted as he tipped his head back and blinked his eyes open, and Bryan kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Aaron’s body trembled beneath the terrycloth.

With his hand a jittery mess, he took Bryan’s to slip between the lapels of his robe. If it were possible, he’d want the man to just _Temple of Doom_ -style hold his damn heart. Instead, he felt his stance widen a little as he rubbed the moisture from his face.

He moved Bryan’s fingers lower. “You still serious?”

“Of course,” Bryan said. He brushed his thumb, skin warm and dry like he’d just gotten out of the shower, gently over Aaron’s nipple.

Aaron breathed in through his nose, cock instinctively throbbing. “Yo, let’s do this.”

Bryan managed to both smile and frown simultaneously. “Did you just say ‘yo’?”

“It just slipped out.”

“The word or maybe a little bit of Jesse?” Bryan said. He moved his hand to Aaron’s shoulder, clamping around the muscle reassuringly. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to do this. I’m just not completely sold that you do. Or rather that _you’re_ positive that you do.”

Bryan winced. “Am I completely off base here?”

After another flare of liquor-infused, life-choice-questioning stomach shit, Aaron sunk further into the wall. He slowly shook his head. “I don’t even know anymore. I…love Lauren, you know?”

Bryan nodded, waiting, because taking cues from each other was part of their jobs, and Aaron could tell that Bryan knew he wasn’t finished.

Aaron let out a breath. “I still want this though…or I think I do, maybe not right now, but, you know. I don’t know.”

He patted Aaron’s arm. “Why don’t we put a pin in this?”

“ _Shut up,_ ” Aaron said, smirk too stubborn not to make an appearance. He straightened up and was grateful that Bryan gave him some space. “I’m gonna head back to my room now.”

“Wait.” Bryan set his hand back on Aaron’s arm. “I didn’t get to finish my story…from before.”

Bryan placed his other hand on the side of Aaron’s face. “It turns out that Tennessee told Warren to go back to his room. And, that’s what’s so ludicrous about this supposed encounter.”

“There’s no way in hell that Tennessee, aging horn-dog that he was, could have turned down a young, ravishingly handsome Warren Beatty. It’s simply preposterous. And, I can’t have you walking out of here thinking I don’t want you.”

Bryan kissed Aaron on the forehead.

Aaron nodded once again, shamelessly letting his eyelashes flutter. “You’re not an aging horn-dog.”

Bryan laughed and nudged Aaron in the ribs. “While I’m not sure how valid that may be, I appreciate the sentiment.”

With a hand between Aaron’s shoulder blades, he walked him to the door. He opened it again for him, staying there even once Aaron had his card key out. He stared at Bryan and felt there was one more appropriate line he could use.

“Do you think this will really work?”

Bryan leaned into the frame, tapping his fingers against the wood, knowing smile on his face. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The San Francisco-based brand of beer mentioned in this is real, and I lifted the description straight from their website because it sounded funny to me. I left it in quotes, so, it's sort of not plagiarism. Bryan really does have an eco-friendly beach house, but it wasn't actually built until 2013. I wanted in here anyway. Thank you again for the kudos and comments!

Bryan’s text messages from Aaron were starting to look like a dated who’s who list of young actors, half of whom Bryan was only vaguely aware of. It had been exactly three weeks since that night in New York where the next morning was more about Bryan abating his not-in-his-thirties-anymore hangover and Aaron creating his first peanut butter and jelly pancake-sandwich than discussing things like condom purchases and sexual propositions in hotel bathrobes. They’d then had a quick day of more press junkets before they parted ways.

In the weeks leading up to his return to Albuquerque, he was receiving at least two cryptic texts a day of nothing but names. He’d get one at the end of his jog: _Katie Holmes and Joshua Jackson._ Or maybe he was brushing his teeth and checking his weather app when he’d hear a blip and get _Rachel Bilson and Adam Brody._ He remembered getting one about Jennifer Gardner while idly browsing the sports section, but not who she was linked to.

The first day of shooting, he’d gone to the bathroom in his trailer during a break for maybe four minutes tops, and his phone was beeping away in his back pocket like a car alarm. When he touched the screen, he opened a nearly incomprehensible lengthy message of yet more names: _Blake Lively and Penn Badgley. Milo Ventimiglia and Hayden Panettiere. Milo Ventimiglia and Alexis Bledel. Jessica Alba and Michael Weatherly. Dominic Monaghan and Evangeline Lilly._

Okay, that last pair he knew, though only from Aaron’s passionate and frequently vocal addiction to the show _Lost_. But, he had no information about any of these individual’s personal lives. He just wasn’t someone who paid any inkling of attention to tabloids.

Contemplating a response, he decided to simply talk to Aaron in person instead of messaging him back because that seemed just a tad juvenile.

It was exceptionally warm for late January weather in New Mexico, and the contrast of his cooled trailer to the desert was a little startling. The sky was eerily cloudless, desert surrounding him, beautiful, mountainous landscape in the distance. But, what Bryan’s focus narrowed in on, moderately obscured by the small, white strip of medical tape on the bridge of his nose, was Aaron: towel underneath him, shirtless, doing sit-ups by his own trailer.

Walking closer, he noticed Aaron had Jesse’s jacket hanging up by the door with his t-shirt folded. The towel appeared to be keeping his pants clean. Aaron was always extremely careful in regards to respecting the hardworking people in wardrobe ever since the infamous Dragon Shirt/Peperoni Hot Pocket Explosion of 2008. Even though the title began and ended with Bryan, it didn’t stop him from _gently_ reminding Aaron of the incident anytime he used the on-set microwave. Bryan had more than his share of pizza rolls to the face in the past four years. But, it was worth it.

“Why exactly are you doing this?” Bryan said.

Aaron spared a glance, speaking laboriously between vigorous, full lifts of his lithe, pale torso, “So…much…fucking…pizza.”

Bryan chuckled and wagged his phone back and forth. “And, why exactly have you been spewing names at me like you’re suddenly a matchmaker for early 2000s young Hollywood?”

Okay, so Bryan had checked Google a few dozen times. He was curious, and Aaron was refusing to give him any explanation via messaging.

Aaron grunted during the next decent, and Bryan didn’t quite hate the sound.

Bryan pursed his lips. “Should I be counting for you? What are you on now? Eight or so?”

He was positive if Aaron’s fingers weren’t locked behind his head in proper form, there’d be one giving him its own version of a salute.

“Hilarious,” Aaron said. Bryan wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but his movements ever so slightly accelerated. “Those people I’ve been texting you…are all actors…co-stars on T.V. shows…who tried to date, broke up and…still had to work with each other.”

Bryan idly wiped his mouth, still not accustomed to the dryness of the air. “Is there some sort of wisdom I need to be gleaning from all of this?”

Aaron threw him a peevish scowl that combined with his exposed tattoos, made him seem so much like Jesse it was practically adorable. “Are you not…still thinking about, you know…us?”

“Occasionally,” Bryan said. He smiled like an idiot because getting a rise out of Aaron seemed very appealing. He shoved his hands in “Walt’s” khakis and eyeballed the vicinity for crew members. A cluster of them were standing a good distance off by Mike’s car, huddled around the camera. “You know, there are plenty of examples when things like this do work?”

“Like when?” Aaron chose that moment to flip over on his hands, starting up some pushups that did wondrous, obscene things for the lean muscles there. It also didn’t exactly hide that set of dimples above the line of his baggy pants.

Bryan felt his scalp go hot and passed his hand over the freshly shaven skin. He wished he had the gonads to do the same to Aaron’s lower back, maybe press a kiss to his neck if no one was looking. Hell, let them watch.

“Aren’t your friends, the ones from the show about vampires, dating? You know, Ian and Nancy?”

Aaron laughed. “You mean, Ian and Nina? Pssh…those two…don’t count. Normal rules don’t apply to them. _Shit…_ they’re like so freakishly hot…it’s like they’re not even human.”

Bryan snapped down into a crouch with his knees popping like a symphony of packing peanuts and bubble wrap and burst rubber bands. “That must make you one devilishly handsome alien.”

Aaron gradually turned to him with his arms locked rigid. His eyes so exquisitely blue, seemingly refracting sunlight like Bryan was peering into a kaleidoscope. Aaron smirked. “Whatever, man.”

He returned to his in no way homoerotic up-and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down that made Bryan picture the two of them in only _slightly_ different positions. And, Bryan was feeling uncharacteristically flustered and hopeless about it all, genuinely wanted something to say to make this better.

“What about Michael J. Fox? When he was on _Family Ties,_ he met, he met his….”

Aaron snapped his head up. “His wife, man, his _wife_.”

Bryan opened his mouth as if he even knew his next line when he saw Jonathan walking their way.

Johnathan cupped his mouth and shouted, “You two lovebirds ready to get back on the horse?”

Aaron shot to his feet with a physical finesse Bryan envied and stepped over to cordially help him up. Glancing at the swirling black ink, he took his hand, letting his fingers stroke the design. Then, it was all about the work again.

\-----

“No, no, no,” Aaron said. He was wringing his hands, crying, hiccupping around the waterlogged words in his mouth. He shook his head. “I…don’t know what’s wrong with me, Mr. White. I don’t know how I could be so stupid.”

Aaron sat on the hardwood floor of Jesse’s house, or really the set location of Jesse’s living room. He’d been here, inside these fly-away walls and ceilings, and sobbing his lungs dry for hours. He was starting to get those tingly feelings up his neck and across the back of his scalp, like lactic acid in his calf muscles after a run. He’d been stuck in this deep, dark, raw emotional low for so long he could feel himself getting cold.

Bryan’s fingers were digging into his shoulders. His voice was shushing him, “Stop that, stop that now,” and repeating a deep, melodic, manipulative “Come on, come on.”

Sometimes with scenes like this he simply got lost in all this shit. He’d forget that boundary keeping Jesse and him separate. They’d just seamlessly swell up and twine themselves together like intestines inside of him, and it was _him_ with the gun in his hand, tearing up and aimed to protect Mr. White no matter what.

But, it was like his brain was flat-out fucking with him today. He wasn’t even trying to pull up any tortured memories or dead-puppy kind of stuff when an image seemed to stab him through the eye socket, straight into his skull: Bryan’s lovely wife in tears, pulling away from Bryan and leaving him forever. Twenty-three years of marriage carelessly and violently shredded, ripped apart like the stuffing of Jesse’s futon cushions, wrecked because Aaron had some lame crush and a somewhat off-balanced fiancée. And it was all his fault, all his fault, all his _stupid_ fault.

“I’m so sorry,” Aaron said.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Bryan said. “Listen to me, what happened, happened for the best, you hear me?”

Aaron cupped the sides of his face, crying almost silently.

“And I wouldn’t change a thing. You and I working together, having each other’s back. It’s what saved our lives.”

He sniffled and tried to swallow down the extra weight of those words, that oh-so-fucking inappropriately appropriate “You and I working together,” pressing him further down into the black, limitless hole he’d been wallowing in way before they started shooting this scene. Jesse was supposed to be calming down at this point. His throat clenched as he made himself stop crying, hands still rubbing together.

“I want you to think about that as we move forward.”

Even with every worst case scenario playing out gruesome and grizzly in his mind like a splatter film, Aaron was still sickly fascinated by what it would be like to hit the fast-forward button to the gory climax instead of switching this whole fucking thing off.

He rubbed the corner of his mouth, strained his neck back towards Bryan and the artificial daylight filtering in through the curtains. “Go forward where?”

A disembodied voice startled the shit out of him. “That’s great, guys. Absolutely best take. Let’s wrap for the day.”

Echoed applause and footsteps, crew heading home, and Bryan’s hand was there on Aaron’s shoulder, staying put in the most shatteringly beautiful way possible. The grip closed in again. Then it was paired with the other hand and massaging the spastic energy from his muscles, making his body feel like a slab of seasoned, tenderized, well-loved porterhouse steak. The man gave a damn good backrub. He probably knew how to rub all kinds of things.  

Aaron shut his eyes tight. He needed to re-focus now. Breathing in through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, he visualized himself taking in the good and giving up the bad. It was a mantra Bryan had passed along to him during this kind of a mental breakdown Aaron had in his trailer, sometime between filming “Phoenix” and “ABQ.” It was a little hippy-dippy, but like all of Bryan’s advice, the shit worked. Aaron just needed to keep breathing: take in the good, give up the bad; take in the good, give up the bad; take in the good, give up the bad.

He was breathing so hard now it felt like he was fogging up his air supply. Usually, he liked to picture the bad dissipating from him like murky crystal vapors, thinning out more and more until all he was left with were two lungs, congested only by cigarettes. That wasn’t happening now. No, the stuff was all around him, slinking along his skin and emitting a smothering, sauna-like heat.   

Bryan’s knee was against his upper arm from the way he was sitting on the futon, Bryan’s goatee was a pleasantly scratchy, unassuming guest on his shoulder, Bryan’s thumbs were in his lower back.

“Hey,” Bryan said. His voice was serene, uncomplaining, and soft. It was everything Mr. White's wasn’t, even in scenes like this when that’s what the guy wanted it to be. “Everything okay in there? You need anything?”

“If you don’t mind, just keep doing that,” he said. Bryan moved his fingers to frame Aaron’s sides more, working tendons that needed attention from all the pizza and sexual frustration he’d been trying to pushup away. And, even though Aaron felt like he needed to be on a different kind of set for this kind of shit, one with less dialogue and clothes, he just barely arched his back and sighed. “Feels really good.”

Bryan stopped for a second before his he was pressing in again. “ _Good_.”

It was just one word, one innocent little word. But, it sounded like it dropped a decibel or two, thick, clouded in want like the way Aaron’s whole body felt.

Aaron shifted a little to encourage Bryan over to a sore area near his lower ribcage, but it was sort of an awkward movement. Bryan’s hand slipped to Aaron’s hipbone. His fingers, dense and hot, seemed to be hinting at more of a front massage than a back one.

Aaron lifted up without thinking, a spastic, jerky thrust into nothing. It was fitting really, because with the way they’d been circling each other, hashing and rehashing this thing for days, it had started to feel like he was thrusting into nothing, into a dead-end he didn’t even know how to start.

Thinking why the hell not, he rocked forward again.

Something hard smacked against the floor.

Aaron searched everywhere in a panic, but nobody was there aside from him and Bryan. He wasn’t sure what made the noise, but it was probably just a boom mike or something.

Whatever it was didn’t seem to bother Bryan too much. He hooked his thumb in one of the loops of Aaron’s pants. “How does taking things slow sound?”

Aaron thought about how it should have sounded abrupt, those words coming out of Bryan’s mouth with no other verbal cue. But, Aaron’s hesitance was drifting away like the smoke from Jesse’s pipe. He was more ready for this question than ever.

“Awesome.” Aaron nodded with his eyes closed. “Slow sounds awesome.”

\-----

Bryan was sure if the Pacific Ocean was a painting, it was very modern, very abstract, and most likely, very expensive. Or that at least seemed to be the look it was going for, glistening before him from his second floor balcony, after about four or five pints of his growler of Brew Free or Die IPA that he was pairing with his rare cigarette of the month. The painting would also need to be hung slightly crooked on the wall. The scenery was beautiful but slightly crooked. Beautiful but slightly crooked: a summarization of Bryan’s feelings for Aaron that reverberated through him, from chest cavity to femoral artery, and kept him awake even more so than the sugar in the alcohol he was consuming.

Insomnia wasn’t really a pressing issue at eleven AM on this lovely mid-morning in Ventura County where Bryan was spending some alone time at his family’s beachfront property to get some writing done. This proved to be more difficult than he’d anticipated because the normally Kerouac-like ambiance of a drink, a cigarette, and his typewriter had turned into several beers and a one-track mind that eagerly wished to take creative, more phallic, liberties with the phrase “alone time.”

He shook his head and sipped at the foamy head brimming to the top of his glass. He was sitting on the balcony outside of the master bedroom his wife had decorated herself, arranging each and every piece of framed artwork with a carefully aligned precision. What kind of a man would he be to start up something like _that_ at a place like _this_?

Bryan wondered if he was overthinking things, which was becoming a bit of a trend, especially during any moment to himself. He had a lot of those with a free weekend from filming. And, he’d originally planned to spend the days writing at home. But, when he’d showed up on Friday night, he was met with a puzzled expression from Robin and a question that nearly knocked his flight-weary body to the floor: “Why aren’t you with Aaron?”

 _By golly, by-fucking-golly_ , Aaron seemed to be unintentionally toying with Bryan’s libido in a way that made Bryan empathize with Maggie the Cat and all felines on hot tin roofs more so than ever before. Because it wasn’t that Bryan wanted to be reckless or careless, he simply wanted things to move from stock-still to slow. Yes, they’d _agreed_ on slow. If Bryan knew Aaron’s understanding of the word “slow” was a couple of dinners and a parting peck on the cheek, he would have pulled out a thesaurus for any other fucking word. _Damn_ , they were progressing at a pace so stagnant he could picture glaciers donning tuxedos to gather around and roast it on Comedy Central. _If drifting icebergs moved at the same pace of Aaron Paul and Bryan Cranston’s sex life, the polar bear on that thing would have enough time to escape to safety, drink a six-pack of Coco-Cola, AND maul the shit out of Santa Clause._ All right, so maybe glaciers weren’t exactly Dean Martin-level witty.

Bryan was having a difficult time feeling all that witty when he had a palate drenched with a true-as-advertised “bold hoppy pizazz with a sturdy malt oomph” and a headspace unreservedly oozing with the image of Aaron on his knees in front of him.

He palmed his crotch over his jeans thinking about Aaron’s hesitant hand taking him out from his pants. His fingers would shake because Bryan may have had a bit of a kink picturing Aaron, most certainly untrue, as timid in the bedroom. Should the scorpion tattoo be there or not? Bryan searched the shoreline and neighboring verandas to see no living creature outside other than two passing seagulls. He unzipped and decided that, no, no tattoos. He just wanted Aaron.

Slowly stroking himself, semi-hard already, he wondered if Aaron should have a buzz cut. Yes, he liked Aaron’s hair cut close to his scalp. He’d run his fingers over it and Aaron would sigh. Aaron, thoroughly naked, would look up at him with those blue eyes, lips suctioned around the hilt. _Yes_ , around the hilt. It was _his_ fucking fantasy. Fuck the logistics of Aaron’s actual level of experience with blowjobs. If he wanted Aaron deep-throating him, then Aaron would deep-throat him for crying out loud.

Bryan smacked himself on the thigh. Since when did jerking off include a scene study analysis? Why couldn’t he just do this? What was missing?

 _Oh_.

Before he could change his mind, which he genuinely needed to, he grabbed his cell phone resting by the neglected typewriter and clicked Aaron’s name in his recently called numbers and lifted it to his ear.         

It rang.

“Hey, hermano,” Aaron said.

Bryan recognized the _Arrested Development_ reference immediately and chuckled. The Spanish word was more than a little untasteful at the moment. But, it didn’t stop his cock from stirring at the sound of Aaron’s throaty voice.

“Hi.” His own voice sounded tempered enough. Good start. “What are you up to?”

“Playing the part of Iron Chef right now and chopping mad vegetables for my future in-laws.”

It was muffled somewhat by something in his mouth. And, _oh boy,_ that definitely got a receptive, dribbling response downstairs.

“Oh, sorry for chewing in your ear. I’m starving. Been eating celery and peppers and cucumbers all day. Lauren’s parents are like huge salad people, so we’re going all out with this kind of Mediterranean, goat cheese, braised lamp, pitted olives recipe she found. You doing all right?”

Bryan had to pause momentarily, unable to speak, receiver filled with Aaron’s mouth noises.

“You sound like you’re eating pizza,” Bryan said.

“ _What_?” Something like a cheese-loaded, greasy slurp on the other end made Bryan touch himself. “How can someone _sound_ like they’re eating pizza?”

Bryan waited again, only lightly stroking his shaft, because he wanted this to last.

Aaron sighed deeply. “ _Okay,_ so I ordered some Dominos. Lauren went to get her nails done and I’m eating this whole damn thing myself. Hear that, you crazy-wise, weird fuck? Can you hear me eating the shit out of this?”

He made an “Mmm” sound into the phone, moaning theatrically, and it was too perfect even in its melodramatic ridiculousness. Bryan’s hand was firmer around himself, tugging harder, moving faster.

Aaron laughed. “How’s the writing coming, _Hemingway_?”

“What are you wearing?”

Bryan was a true idiot.

He heard a heavy swallow, more chewing, and he could almost see Aaron’s nose crinkling in fashion with his amused “what the fuck?” face in pristine, clear HD quality.

“Uh, like a long-sleeve Henley and some jeans.” Aaron chuckled. “What about you, man?”

Bryan had kicked off everything below the waist because he was alone _damn it_ , and it felt better.

“My Eagles shirt,” he said.

Aaron’s deep laughter cooled the sweat on Bryan’s shoulders and neck like the breeze coming from the lopsided Pacific. “That it? You like Donald Duck-ing it or something?”

“Or something.” Bryan pictured himself licking a line along Aaron’s collarbone above his half-buttoned shirt and Aaron quivering. He choked on the image, breathing now erratic, fist a sloppy, furious mess. “Have you…ever been…intimate with a man?”

“ _The fuck_?” Aaron said, coughing. It took him a couple of seconds to stop hacking up a lung. “ _Bryan?”_

Hearing his name like that was deliciously good. He was so close.

“ _Aaron_ ,” he moaned.

“ _Bryan,”_ Aaron repeated. “Are you… _jacking off_ right now?”

“Yes.”

“Uh….” Aaron snickered. “Did me eating pizza get you _that_ excited?”

“No,” Bryan said. The filter was gone, too tunnel vision centered on the now hair-trigger of his conclusion. “I’ve been imagining the two of us in my trailer, you sucking my dick.”

“Oh _fuck_.”

That’s all Bryan needed. He nearly exploded in and _over_ his hand. His heart rate felt as if it were hurdling out of his chest to the bordering rocks below.

“I just cut the _shit_ out of my finger,” Aaron said. “I’m bleeding on the celery.”

Bryan heard the suctioned _pop_ of the sliding glass door behind him. Another hand was on his phone.


	4. Chapter 4

“ _Bryan_ ,” Aaron said. His elbow was wobbly against the countertop. Even the celery was quaking like there was a fucking t-rex stomping around LA. There was no way Bryan was doing what he thought he was doing. “Are you… _jacking off_ right now?”

“Yes.”

_Damn,_ that answer was so fast, so like unpretentiously direct, so Bryan.

Aaron couldn’t believe this was his life right now. He was standing in his kitchen, his bright-ass, California-sun-lit kitchen, dicing vegetables on the island for his early-to-dinner, soon-to-be in-laws, and listening to Bryan jerkoff on the other end of his cell phone. Like, seriously, it was _way_ too clean and shiny in here for this kind of shit. Lauren had bought these pink flowers she’d set up in vases everywhere, he’d mopped _and_ Swiffered the floors, and he had two hundred dollars’ worth of organic, grass-fed lamb on the stove. It smelled like all kinds of sweet and innocent in here. The room was ready for a fucking _Better Homes and Gardens_ photo-shoot and Aaron was unintentionally, sort of having phone sex in the middle of it. He wasn’t sure where Bryan was other than the background noises of the ocean. So, either Bryan had one of those pricey, nature sound-effect machines that helped people sleep or he was doing this _outside_. Aaron actually considered watching _TMZ_ that night for any stories on public indecency. This was straight-up bananas.

“Uh….” Aaron had to laugh at it all. “Did me eating pizza get you _that_ excited?”

“No,” Bryan said.

So that was _one_ kink Aaron could cross off the Bryan Cranston list. And, okay, Aaron kind of understood he had a role in this…situation, in how he’d been dragging his feet since that on-set backrub that had him humping the air in front of him. He’d at least gone on a couple of dates with Bryan and even initiated some non-Emmy-celebrating cheek-kissing. It wasn’t like Aaron was usually shy about these kinds of things. If anything, he’d been carrying around a super loud voice in his head, shouting, “ _Dude_ , what the hell is your problem? Bryan’s into you, dumbass! You’re horny all the damn time. Jump on it, already!”

That voice had some legit points. He wanted Bryan like no other. Aaron just wanted to be insanely cautious.

Bryan’s breath hitched. “I’ve been imagining the two of us in my trailer, you sucking my dick.”

_Holy shit_ , Aaron wasn’t prepared for that at all. His hands were greased from the pizza, knife slipping to nick him right above the second knuckle on his left index finger. Thin blood pooled on his skin and dripped down onto the cutting board, and that shit _stung_.  

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” he said. “I just cut the _shit_ out of my finger. I’m bleeding on the celery.”

He brought his finger to his lips, and it tasted like a weird mix of marinara sauce and metal. A door or something door-like slammed on the other end. There was rustling against the receiver like maybe Bryan dropped the phone.

“Who the _fuck_ is this?”

He snapped his teeth down around his knuckle at the sound of Robin’s voice. Every organ in his body felt like it didn’t know how to work anymore. His stomach felt like it was bloated and warped inside of his esophagus. Everything was over. He fucked it all up.

“I don’t want to hear it, Bryan,” she said. “I’m only going to say this _one_ more time: _Who_ … _the fuck_ … _is this_?”

“Aaron,” he said. His throat had never been drier. He felt his face warm before his eyes were wet. “Robin, it’s Aaron. I’m _so_ sorry. Please, know, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to….”

He heard something that sounded like a strong exhale in his ear. It sounded like relief. Maybe that was just what he wanted it to sound like.

“ _Oh dear god_ , Aaron, it’s _so_ … _damn good_ to hear that _smoky_ voice of yours. Trust me, from this end, I can assure you my husband loves it too. _Oh god_ ,” she said. She was breathing about as hard as Bryan had. She laughed. “You scared the ever living daylights out of me. _Whew_!”

Aaron could hear her cover the phone up a little. “Honey, get a towel or a mop or _something_. You look filthy. Honestly, it’s like you rolled across the floor of an X-rated theatre. I see you enjoyed the growler. Have you had _anything_ to eat today?”

Aaron was feeling relief now too. It was still like a stunned, paralyzed kind of relief that had his eyes leaking happier shit. But, it was better than feeling like he was going to piss all over the lemony-fresh granite tiles.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Aaron, are you still there?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron said. He sniffled, coughed, sniffled. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

Something was muffling her voice again. “You should hear this. He’s _precious_. Does he usually cry after an orgasm? He’s got that look to him, you know; precious, simply precious.”

“Um…hello?”

Part of him wanted to defend some of that, but shit was crazy enough as is. No need to talk about his post-orgasm habits with Bryan’s wife.

“ _Oh_ , I apologize. Aaron, how are you?”

Aaron didn’t know where to start.

“I’m uh…pretty…good. Making a braised lamb salad for Lauren’s parents.”

“How sweet of you,” she said. “How _is_ Lauren?”

“She’s…she’s awesome. I think she’s still at the nail salon,” he said. He licked at the new blood on his finger and blew on it a little because, you know, that _always_ worked. “How are you?”

“Much better than a few moments ago, much better,” she said. “Listen, while I have you here, I just want you to know that I’m…settled about this whole…business. Don’t feel like you’re going to hurt my feelings, all right?”

“Okay?” he said.

What else _could_ he say? _What_ planet was he on that made this conversation normal?

“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to hand you back over to Bryan now. Be careful with the man. I found him braying like a sad, out-of-shape donkey at the Grand Canyon. It was lovely talking with you. You boys have fun.”

Aaron chuckled. “It was good talking to you too. I hope….”

“Hey,” Bryan said.

Aaron heard the door _whoosh_ shut again, way quieter this time. If his Agent Cooper-like detective skills were right, it was a sliding glass door. So, Bryan was somewhere outside of his eco-friendly house in Ventura County. There was no need to watch that shit show _TMZ_. This shit show was all Aaron could handle.

Bryan cleared his throat. “It’s me again: the braying, tourist-laden ass.”

“Yeah, she really knows how to paint a picture.” Aaron snorted. “Maybe next time we do something like this, I could actually _see_ this sweet donkey impression, you know, in person.”

“We should work on that,” Bryan said.

Aaron smiled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

And they were both laughing hysterically.

\-----

On Monday morning, Bryan greeted Aaron in his trailer with a stalk of celery, red silk ribbon tied at the base in a bow, and with a kiss, lightly, sweetly, right on the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. I had another scene ready, but it just didn't fit. I scoured the internet for interviews with Robin or anything where she was speaking to make her sound remotely genuine, because I take this story way too seriously even though it's ridiculous. But, all I found was one PSA she did with Bryan and their daughter about marriage equality. So, I made stuff up. Also, I was definitely inspired by VillaKulla's beautiful "Granite State Revisited" when Robin makes the joke about Aaron's post-orgasm crying. I hope I didn't overstep my bounds because I respect the hell out of VillaKulla. The next chapter should be up soon :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an interview I mention in this next chapter: http://www.ericspitznagel.com/playboy/bryan-cranston/ 
> 
> The answer to number 20 is what really applies here, though the whole thing is a good read. This is another short chapter, but the next one is basically already written and will be posted super soon!

“You know, I’m usually a lot better at this,” Aaron said. “ _What_ is wrong with me?”

Aaron handed Bryan a glass of water, dropping down beside him. He ran his hand over the slightly scruffy pine green fabric of the couch’s armrest. Bryan had helped him pick this thing out way back in early second season at some hole in the wall place, and they’d both agreed this one was the best of the lot. Aaron was okay with it not being brand new because he was watching his cash a little closer at the time and it was just for his house in Albuquerque. If he was only going to be there a couple of months out of the year, he didn’t see a point in getting a ton of stuff. Even then, everything was still very minimalistic. His new floor lamp with the cool orange, transparent shade was on and it threw a kind of mellow light around the sparse, mostly wood, furniture in the room. Aaron had bought it at a flea market because it reminded him of sunsets in the desert, and of cracking jokes with Bryan outside the RV, and of the way Bryan would just look at him like Aaron was the most interesting thing ever as they were standing with this totally gorgeous backdrop of streaky skies and dusty deserts around them.

Bryan, with the knot in his blue tie elegantly slack and relaxed in a way only this man could pull off, set his chin in his hands and fluttered his eyelashes. “It’s not your fault I’m just so gosh darn pretty.”

Aaron made an unamused face around a swallow of water, and tried to pinpoint when exactly the universe decided to shove an idiot hat on his head. Let’s see, after arranging and rearranging his reservations at Schätzchen, this supposedly super swanky, romantic German restaurant, for like the latest they’d take them, they were closed when he and Bryan got there. Aaron somehow accidentally locked his damn car keys in his Land Rover while they were in the parking lot. And, after a whole ordeal with AAA, they didn’t make it back to his house until midnight. This was on top of three long days of filming where they were lucky to get maybe four hours of sleep a night and they needed to be on set the next morning at five AM. Both he and Bryan were kind of wrung dry and wiped out. It was part of the reason why he’d asked Bryan to stay over. He seriously had all this shit planned out and everything.

First, he was going to wear his grey flecked suit, because Bryan had offhandedly mentioned he dug it during a red carpet event a few months back, so you know, _sold_. He was going to pick Bryan up at his house. Yeah, he’d just spent the past twelve hours with him at work, but he wanted to be a _fucking_ gentleman.

Second, they’d go to dinner at Schätzchen. Anna was crazy about the place and kept saying how everything on the menu was so authentic and delicious. Aaron had even asked her what dishes to get and which wines paired best with certain entrees. She’d recommended this chocolate cake dessert with cherries that would be perfect for Bryan, and Aaron didn’t know how to feel about that considering he hadn’t even told her who he was taking. But, he was definitely going to use her tips to charm those classy, tailored pants right off the guy.

Third, you know, before the pants thing, he was going to drive Bryan back to his place. They’d walk in and he’d have his living room all set up: big tub of these rare Australian licorices he’d ordered online, Costco-sized box of popcorn, and a stack of Tom Hanks DVDs. The stuff _was_ here, it just didn’t play as well now.

Aaron had waved his arms limply towards the coffee table when they’d walked in the door. “It was supposed to be a joke, like we were having a slumber party at my place. It’s not like we were gonna even use this stuff. I was just…I don’t know. I’m gonna order a pizza.”

He was headed for the Giovanni’s menu he had stuck on the fridge under a Los Pollos magnet when Bryan laughed and called out, “You know you can’t solve all your problems with pepperonis.”

“Obviously,” Aaron said. “I mean, since I made you miss out on the best bratwurst in New Mexico, I thought we’d go big and splurge on some sausage tonight.”

 _Oh man,_ he heard it when he said it.

“Is that so?”

Aaron just knew Bryan was standing behind him with one of his insane-looking grins. It was like he could actually _feel_ Bryan’s exaggerated leer on the back of his head and probably his ass too, even with his own eyes scanning past the calzones to the toppings list.

Once they both stopped making bratwurst-dick puns in maybe _the_ shittiest German accents ever, laughing like morons, and decided on a pizza, black olives and sausage, Aaron poured them some waters and started thinking of ways to salvage this date.

“I think it’s charming,” Bryan said. He smirked and nodded to the table of goodies in front of them. “As for the rest, don’t even worry about it. I wasn’t really up for going out tonight. At the risk of sounding old, I’m pretty damn exhausted.”

“No, man, totally with you on that one,” Aaron said. “Want to watch _Forrest Gump_ for like the billionth time?”

It was a rhetorical question. Bryan _always_ wanted to watch _Forrest Gump._ Aaron already had the disc in and stood up in search of the remote when he noticed it tucked under Bryan’s thigh.

Bryan was hunched over, slipping off his loafers. He took off the left first then the right. Straightening, he removed his coat. He draped it over the arm and maneuvered out of his tie with some sort of suave mystical shit that would have had Aaron strangling himself. He popped open the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves before moving on to the ones down the front, gradually exposing chest hair and a white undershirt. And, Aaron kind of wanted to say something along the lines of, “Never mind, man, I think I found a new movie I want to watch.” It was sort of on an extra-cheese-mozzarella-stuffed-crust level of cheesy thing to say. Plus, Aaron had seen Bryan naked like a ton. There was just something different about witnessing the actual act, getting to see him strip down in something so formal. It reminded him of a fantasy or two he’d had about Bryan coming home with him after the Emmys. One may have featured undressing Bryan in a conveniently empty limo, like no driver or anything, and giving the dude some totally enthusiastic head with Bryan’s huge fingers digging into the leather seats and he’d be really stoked about it all and panting a ton.

“Try to contain your excitement,” Bryan said. He coughed out a laugh, head down as he struggled with a sock. “Just getting rid of the monkey suit.”

The second he glanced up again, Aaron was pretty sure Bryan seemed to notice him hardcore staring. It was just a guess, because Bryan placed his hands on Aaron’s hips. Bryan briefly pressed his fingertips into the dimples on Aaron’s lower back through his cotton dress shirt, and it tickled in a good way. Then he slid his palms in perefect symmetry to the buckle of his belt.

He smiled. “Can I help with yours?”

Arcade Fire’s “Ready to Start” started mid-song, volume super high, and Aaron thought his stereo was a possessed, snarky motherfucker until he realized his phone was going off.

Lauren’s name flashed white on the screen.

Aaron grabbed it from the coffee table, fumbled around a bit, and accidentally hit speaker phone before he dropped it right in Bryan’s _lap_.

“ _Hey, baby_!”

A bunch of people were screaming around her, glasses were being clanked together in the distance, and something that sounded like an Usher song was playing.

“Molly, _girl_ , I’ll be right back.” She made that cute, grimace-y _euuugh_ sound like when she’d had a few too many shots. “I’m _not_ wearing your shoes. _You’re_ wearing your shoes. My god, girl, give me two seconds to talk to my super-hot fiancé. _No_ , it’s not Zach Morris. Somebody get this girl some agua.”

During all of this, Aaron was scrambling around for his fucking phone, which seemed to really enjoy sliding around Bryan’s pants like the little shit was at Six Flags. And, uh, Bryan was sort of hard. Aaron was too.

“Ooookay, I’m alone now, outside. Don’t worry, it’s safe,” she said. She hummed whatever Usher song was on and laughed. “I’m at Molly’s bachelorette party if you couldn’t tell. Bar-hop- _hopping_. Just calling to say I love you! Hmmm, and there was one other thing. Oh, right, you reminded me to…to told you….”

She laughed.

Aaron knew exactly what she was going to say, and he didn’t want it blared out over the speaker of his iPhone. “Hey, babe, what a sec, I got you on….”

“No, baby, I remember. You…told me….to remind you…to water Cranston.”

Bryan chuckled with his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

Immediately recognizing what he’d done, Bryan’s eyes like blew up as he double-handed popped his hands to his face like he was very convincingly channeling a young Macaulay Culkin.

 _“Oh, snap!_ Is that Bryan?” Lauren squealed. “ _Oh, snap_ , are you guys _finally_ having _sex_?”

Aaron thought about how that kind of assumption should have been a reach since they could have still been filming, even this late. But, Aaron had shared enough about his pining and indecision with Lauren for that not to be the case. While awkward as hell, at least none of this was a secret.

He scooped up his bastard of a phone and tried to be chill about how his knuckles grazed Bryan’s inner thigh. It didn’t help when the dude grunted. Aaron felt that caveman communication like right to the crotch.

“Uh…no…not yet?” Aaron wanted to be as honest as possible because while it wasn’t exactly laid out on the table like his lame movie theatre butter popcorn, they were both still rocking half-chubs about two feet away from each other.

“ _Ooooh!_ Not yet? Are you guys doing like mouth stuff? Bryan, go slow with him. It’s been a while since Aaron’s performed fellatio. _Fellatio_ : does that not sound like the name of some fancy guy in Shakespeare times or something?” She giggled and cleared her throat. And, before she even did it, Aaron was fully expecting her high-pitched, kind-of-cockney, adorably bad British accent. “Excuse me, Sir, what is your name? _Ah_ , Fellatio, it is lovely to meet you, my good man. Let us enjoy a spot of tea and draw a bath together and perhaps dabble in the oral arts of yore.”

She seemed to be drinking something, snickered and made an “Hmm” like her mouth was full. “Oh, if you want to return the favor, Bryan, know that he like _loves_ it when you play with his backdoor at the same time. And, don’t even get me started on how crazy-sensitive his taint is because, _well_ ….”

“ _Lauren_ ,” Aaron said.

He tried to switch the phone back to a regular one-on-one call, but Bryan grabbed it from him, practically dying laughing like Lauren.

“We haven’t exactly gotten that far,” Bryan said. “But, I appreciate your notes.”

Lauren gasped about as dramatically as a nine-year-old, center-stage at theatre camp. “ _You guys_ , am I totally cock-blocking you right now? _Oh snap_! I am _so_ sorry.”

“Babe, you’re fine,” he said. “I was the one who answered my….”

“ _Molly_! Yeah, I’m coming!” She sounded like she was walking, traffic noises not too far off, and Aaron could even hear the clip of her shoes on the concrete. “Hey, we’re hip-hip-hopping to the next place. I gotta go. P.S. You guys should _totally_ rub your dicks together, ‘cause, you know if _I_ had a dick, I’d want to do that like _all_ the time.”

Aaron mouthed a “wow” to Bryan who was still cracking up.

“ _Oh right_ , one last, last thing. Bryan, seriously dude, take it easy on my boy. He hasn’t been around like you.”

Bryan wiped actual tears from his eyes and smiled. “Lauren, are you _implying_ something about my history?”

Aaron could hear intermediate waves of house music, muffled then raging then muffled, like a door was being opened and closed.

“Two words, Bryan: Catalina Island. _Catalina_ _Island_ , brother.” She giggled. There was another surge of bass and voices. “All right, love you both, bye!”

Bryan let the screen go dark on its own and set it down with that grin still as wide as ever.

“I see stories of my youthful summer exploits have traveled,” he said. Maybe Aron looked a little guilty, because Bryan waved it off. “So, what was this about you _watering_ me?”

Aaron screwed his mouth to the side and nodded towards the kitchen. “You know that cactus I got about a year ago? Named him Cranston, you know…because I’m all moony over you.”

“A year ago, huh?” Bryan’s smile softened. His hands came back to Aaron’s hips. “Imagine what we could have done with a year.”

“Or five,” Aaron said, smiling too.

The doorbell rang.

They exchanged glances, and Aaron was pretty sure he looked just as frustrated yet still totally hungry and also sort of tired as fuck as Bryan did.

Bryan moved like he was going to stand, but Aaron put his hand up.

“Hey, I’m buying this time. Just get the movie, ready, all right?”

“Sure. Thanks,” Bryan said. He got the remote out from under his leg.

As Aaron made his way to the front door, he could see Bryan settle back against the sofa, blinking slowly, and he really hoped Bryan wouldn’t fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I ended up going down this rabbit hole of YouTube videos of Lauren rapping about Kind Campaign with her co-founder, Molly, and then this drunk version of Lauren was birthed in my brain. She actually comes across as incredibly intelligent when she's not free-styling :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another Bryan Cranston interview that heavily influenced this story (more specifically, question number one): http://www.malcolminthemiddle.co.uk/2010/04/26/bryan-cranston-my-life-in-15-songs/
> 
> You don't have to read the interview for the reference to make sense because I included more background on this one. I just thought it was a cool interview. Also, not to insult anyone's intelligence, but the Emily mentioned is the woman who plays Andrea, and Ian is Brock. I honestly didn't know their real names until I looked them up to write this. Thank you so so much for your amazing comments :)

Two slices of pizza was all it took before Bryan unintentionally started up one of those game of “I’m just resting my eyes” that never seemed that preposterous when it was as if your every limb was weighted down like wet Albuquerque sand. He was retaining bits here and there of the film. There were glimpsed, panning shots of Georgia and Elvis hip-swiveling and the famous, Southern drawl of “Run, Forrest! Run!”

Things were a little muffled after that. Certain dialogue would momentarily jar him awake, Aaron side-eying him with a smirk and some variation of “Yeah, man, _just_ wresting your eyes” before he’d doze off again.

At some point, a thick, soft, throw blanket was laid across him. He noticed he’d shifted to tuck his feet underneath himself. The _thwack, thwack, thwack_ of military helicopter blades was oddly comforting.

Bryan was much warmer the next time he was squinting against the glow of lamplight and the television. He shut his eyes. With his neck propped against one of the armrests, he realized his self-centered, sleeping body had somehow finagled a way to stretch out across the entire couch. Someone else was under the blanket with him. He could feel the body heat, light pressure on the outside of his legs and on his lap. There were fingers on his face.

Aaron: leaning over and straddling him, timid smile, oh _so_ close. Aaron: flickering image suffused in an orange marmalade splendor, raw, croaky whisper of “Is this cool,” hand slipping up his t-shirt once Bryan nodded. Aaron: kissing him, kissing him, kissing him.

Bryan could feel Aaron tentatively licking his bottom lip. He gently pushed back with his own tongue as he recognized a melody that made him feel both ancient and fourteen in the same sigh against his mouth. Paul and Art, together again and singing “Mrs. Robinson,” dredging up that grade school graduation party where he’d been essentially rejected by a girl before he’d even had the nerve to ask her out. She’d made out with the other, more brazen guy on the couch.

Aaron sucked kisses along his jaw, down the slope of his neck and, regardless of how saccharine it seemed, he felt like he was getting a second chance with this song.      

Lips were sliding between his again. His gradually slowed on their own accord. Aaron grumbled against the side of Bryan’s face.

“You fucking suck.” Aaron’s voice was equal measures facetious and agitated.    

“I know,” Bryan said.

In an instant, all lights were off and Aaron was curled up next to him, face against his chest. He could hear the faint thrum of the Blu-Ray player and a train a few miles off. Pulling the blanket higher, he draped an arm around Aaron and kissed the prickly crown of his head.

\----

Aaron was full-on delirious.

He’d had late nights with almost zero sleep before, but this day was seriously _so_ bad. They were on the last leg of shooting “Hazard Pay” and it felt like their normally nonlinear sequence of filming was fate laughing at him even more so than Aaron was. He couldn’t keep it in, like major case of the giggles. And _of course_ a good chunk of the first half of the day was spent on the post-cook, couch Jesse/Mr. White interaction. Even though they were dressed in hazmat suits with ice tea prop beer and Bryan was supposed to be acting like a complete, conniving asshole, Aaron couldn’t stop thinking about last night. Or really, he couldn’t stop thinking about that dream he’d had about finishing what he’d started last night, just taking Bryan out of his slacks and riding the guy. It made for a strange morning. Because, well, when Aaron had startled awake, he sort of noticed he was absolutely _nailing_ the part of little spoon with an awkward, killer-rigid hard-on. They were already fifteen minutes late, so Aaron was shit out of luck on that one.

After three cups of coffee and two Ultra Blue Monsters, ironically available from crafts services, Aaron still wasn’t on his A-game. He’d pulled himself together enough to finish that fucking darkened-room couch bit. Though, even when Vince had said they got it, Aaron felt like he was sending out a super horned-up vibe. Like Aaron was pizza grease and the camera was a cardboard box, unintentionally soaking it all in. Regardless, they were back on the set of Jesse’s living room, and Aaron’s nerves were starting to flake away like the embers of one of the cigarettes in the pack of Wilmington’s he was holding.

His entire body, hot under Jesse’s sweater and black jeans, felt like a lit cigarette. He was so antsy and unsettled, and he just wanted Bryan’s mouth on him _already._ He wasn’t being picky where, just _somewhere,_ sometime like _now._

Jesse needed to explain his ideas for the logistics of toting around a mobile meth lab as he sat next to Mr. White with his diagrams spread out on the glass coffee table. Aaron had an uncut, uninterrupted segment of dialogue all to his lonesome. He _knew_ it in his head. The exact lines after Mr. White’s minor correction of “Agitation motor” were “Agitation motor: here on top, it’s not going to fit in the box. It’s just too tall. You know, I thought we’d put a collar on the tank and carry the motor in separately alongside the condenser. And, on the day, we just twist it into place, you know, while we’re setting up.”

But, no amount of vocal exercises or anything was helping him transfer those words from brain to mouth. Everything kept getting flipped around or twisted up, vowels sounding wonky, the words all scrambling out like a horde of fans bum-rushing each other to the stage at like a fucking Justin Bieber concert.  

Aaron was frustrated. He could tell the crew was losing patience. It was getting late, and Emily and Ian were still graciously waiting to, you know, _finally_ do their lines. Ian’s dad was nice enough to take the little guy outside to get some air, because unlike Brock, the kid kind of never stopped talking.

To top it all off, Aaron was desperately trying to subdue his ready-to-go, middle-school-eager various degrees of boners threatening to pop up all damn day. _Shit,_ how much time would it take to just slip into his trailer and rub one out real quick? Probably a lot less time than trying to do a rapid-fire repeating of “condenser, con- _den-_ ser, _con_ densoooar” with Bryan smiling at him encouragingly and Aaron’s prick stiffening in his thankfully baggy-ish pants.  

After another three takes, Bryan waved over at Vince, assured him that, no, he didn’t think they needed to take a fifteen, and walked Aaron over to the craft service table. Aaron eyed the vat-like bowl of pineapple cubes Bob was always requesting. And like _damn,_ how much pineapple did the dude really need? He popped a piece in his mouth and wiped the juice off with the back of his hand.

Bryan’s was looking at him with that trademark concern etched into the creases on his forehead. “You feeling all right?”

Aaron yawned as if on fucking cue. “Just tired.”

“Understandable,” Bryan said, clapping him on the back. “It’s my fault. We shouldn’t have stayed up so late.”

“Hey, _I_ wanted to stay up. Wanted to stay up longer,” Aaron said.

Bryan rubbed a nice half circle between Aaron’s shoulder blades. “We will tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight.” Aaron hoped that didn’t come across as pouty as he guessed it did. He went with changing the subject. “Okay, I think I got this now.”

Aaron was ready to go back on set when he felt Bryan’s hand on his chest, fingers splaying out wide and secure like the legs of a tripod. He glanced at the thing a little distastefully, because _come on,_ he’d _just_ shut down the last pants party in progress. This was like the host inviting even _more_ weirdos and meth-heads inside, which only moderately made sense even to him.

“You know, what always helps me is to focus on my breathing,” Bryan said. “Just take in a good one, really _toke_ the oxygen and hold it in there for a second.”

Aaron chuckled, moved back a smidge closer to the fruit basket on the table behind him, and inhaled like he was in the middle of a physical. As he let it out, Bryan’s palm slid down to his stomach, popping him there lightly, because for some reason Bryan always thought that was hilarious. It was a normally ticklish spot for him. This time though, it just sent kind of an ache down to the base of his spine, then his balls. Aaron wasn’t really up for laughing.

Bryan sort of uneasily smiled. “I can’t tell if I’m making this easier for you or harder.”

 _Oh boy_ , talk about the wrong time to make an unintentional erection pun. In attempt to super casually hide it, Aaron’s arm decided to spastically knock over at least five or six oranges. When Bryan moved to catch the next citrus asshole from rolling off the table, his knee met the butt of his inadvertent joke.

Aaron groaned softly. “Oh _shit_.”

And, if Bryan was one of the lights of Aaron’s life, his attention now was like the beam of a doctor’s flashlight checking his vision, because it was like Aaron could imagine his pupils dilating as Bryan gave another curious nudge to his crotch.

“ _Aaron_ ,” Bryan said. His voice was all kinds of worried and sympathetic.

Yep, Bryan definitely found a lump all right. Aaron wryly wondered what the diagnosis was.

Bryan craned his neck back, and shouted, “On second thought, I’m going to need that fifteen.”


	7. Chapter 7

“ _Bryan. Oh, fuck,_ ” Aaron moaned.

He was sweater-less, fly open wide, dick absolutely _throbbing_ in Bryan’s hand. His charmingly few chest hairs were sticking up with static from the wool blend material, his eyes closed and mouth open, his body stretching out for Bryan like Aaron was a puppy being gently roused from a nap.

There was nothing sluggish or nap-like about just how _damn_ quickly this had accelerated. The walk out to Aaron’s trailer had been done in an urgent, fervent haze for Bryan; one that left him raising Aaron up on the closest piece of furniture, which just so happened to be an entryway table by the left of the door. It was small, mostly for his car keys and phone. But, Aaron wasn’t expressing any complaints about the lack of space.

Aaron had grabbed him by the back of his neck and kissed him. It was somehow startling, expected, and brilliant in one simultaneous sensation that made Bryan swear he needed to spend all of his remaining breaks working Aaron’s mouth open as they profusely touched and embraced each other like near-death, sea-weary voyagers joyously falling against the warm sand beneath them. Aaron was _so_ warm. His stubble, like sunbaked sand, pleasurably followed behind the wet path of Aaron’s lips above the collar of Bryan’s shirt.

Bryan had palmed Aaron firmly over the zipper and rubbed him as Aaron pivoted up in needy little pushes. With Aaron practically clawing his own sweater off, Bryan tugged Aaron’s erection out: rosy-red and veiny and _warm_. He’d considered it would be at least _somewhat_ cumbersome handling a cock not attached to his own body for the first time. But, the moment he carefully circled his fingers around him and did a trial up-and-down, Bryan could almost feel every muscle in Aaron’s body melt other than his dick receptively stiffening against Bryan’s palm in a way that was impressively arousing.

“Wanted this for so long,” Aaron said.

He was adorably starry-eyed and heaving. And, of course this felt so wholeheartedly natural for Bryan. This was Aaron: the man who made _everything_ feel right.

“I hate to think you’ve been secretly harboring a desire for a mediocre handjob,” Bryan said, chuckling.

Bryan tried intermediately squeezing him in attempt to recreate what he himself enjoyed, and Bryan wasn’t exactly feeling humble about the way Aaron groaned at each and every cinch of his fingers.

“ _Shit,_ yeah, like, _oh_ yeah. _So_ good,” Aaron said. He seemed to involuntarily buck into Bryan. “Mediocre, my ass.”

“You have a _great_ ass.”

Bryan snuck the fingers of his unoccupied hand deeper inside the slack denim of his pants. And, Aaron had that rapscallion glint to his eye during his next thrust up. It was the same tantalizing expression that had launched numerous filthy scenarios in Bryan’s brain; ones like getting a hardy handful of Aaron’s rear.    

“I love your ass,” Bryan said. He was kneading a good half of it, almost lifting Aaron from the table. “I love you.”

Aaron smiled _so_ genuinely. “I love you too, man.”

He tilted his head back when Bryan twisted his wrist a certain way, and Bryan simply _had_ to lean down into the dip of his collarbone. He licked at the skin there and ever so gingerly tweaked a nipple. When Aaron responded with an encouraging string of “ _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ ,” Bryan twisted a tad harder and attempted to match the tempo of his increasingly confident strokes.

Aaron moaned through his teeth and reached out for Bryan’s belt. Bryan lightly pushed his hand away.

Aaron’s nose crinkled with his breath laborious. “What’s wrong?”

“Let’s just focus on you. I’m not the one walking around set with a boner,” he said.

Bryan put on a playful smile and pinched the flushed head of Aaron’s dick in hopes of distracting him.

Aaron rocked against his fist, blinking and gaping before he seemed to be able to speak again. “It’s called…multi-tasking. I’m super good at it. I’ve been…chewing gum…walking, and fantasizing about you fucking me at the same time for years.”

Bryan chuckled, self-deprecatingly smirked, and eventually rolled his eyes. “It’s just…not. Well, I’m not exactly ready to perform at the moment. Don’t take it personally. I get that way when I haven’t slept enough.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Aaron said, eyebrows high.

Aaron Paul, the immensely sweet soul that he was, seemed to be contemplating ending this prematurely purely for the sake of it not being mutually beneficial, only in terms of erections. Bryan was most certainly enjoying the hell out of this. But, he could read Aaron’s gracious uncertainty in the manor he was weighing everything, eyes narrowed and perplexed. So, Bryan moved his hand lower to drag his thumb brutally down the tender spot of Aaron’s perineum.  

Aaron _beautifully_ bowed out his back, emphasizing delicate outlines of his breast bone and ribs. “ _Oh, fuck, Bryan.”_

Hesitance was no longer an issue. Aaron was feverishly fucking against his palm and rattling the legs of the table with each quick thrust. Bryan could barely keep up. In the heady midst of assisting, though in great _watching,_ Aaron frantically trying to get himself off, Bryan thought he heard another _thump_ that didn’t exactly synch with the sort of established pattern of table to wall.

The door cracked open. Late evening chill and Vince’s head curiously peeked inside like a turtle, turning right, then left and _oh_. Bryan protectively covered Aaron up with both hands as Aaron seemed to be doing a spot-on impression of a stalled, buffering gif of himself preparing to throw up.

Vince’s eyes looked comically large behind his glasses only temporarily, before he nodded once. “Just stopped by to uh…give some notes. But, I, uh, couldn’t have said it better myself. This is really cool, you guys. For everyone’s freakin’ sake, please continue.”

And, with that nonchalant, dry-as-ever parting line, Vince shut the door behind him and yelled “Folks, looks as if we’re going to be able to wrap up real soon!” Bryan thought he heard distant cheering and a loud “About _fucking_ time.”

“Well, if boss-man says so.” Bryan wrapped his hand around Aaron’s shaft and tried to regain his rhythm at a nice half-speed.

Aaron scrubbed his face with his eyes brilliantly wide. “We not gonna talk about that?”

Bryan found the spot behind Aaron’s balls again with his free hand. He made a circling motion with the tip of his index finger at Aaron’s opening and pressed at the bud keenly drawing him inside.

Aaron stuttered around a moan. “Never mind…just kidding.”

Bryan dipped his finger in a little deeper just as he kissed Aaron, pumping his cock. He could feel Aaron shuddering all over and Bryan wished he had more limbs to rub the tremors from his skin. He was being moved back by his chest.

Aaron winced, seemingly struggling with something. “ _Oh fuck, Bryan_.”

Bryan thought he _must_ like what he was doing. So, he gently slid in another finger in the back and tightened his hold around the front. Aaron was leaking down Bryan’s knuckles.

“These aren’t my pants,” Aaron gasped.  

Bryan chuckled. “What? Whose pants are you…?”

He understood now, knew there wasn’t really a valid excuse for explaining blatant come stains on black jeans to the wardrobe department, and decided to move fast. Just as if he were treating a bleeding finger, he leaned forward and instinctively pressed his mouth to the dripping appendage.

Aaron actually _mewled_. He mewled out a _squeaky_ little noise. And, oh, that’s right; this was _typically_ how blowjobs started.

Bryan had never in his life done something like this before. But, backing out at this point, Aaron grasping the table in both hands with his brows pinched together, would be cruel and vicious. There was no way Bryan would stop now, most importantly because he didn’t want to.

He parted his lips around the head. His mouth seemed to fit around the tip like the lid to a coffee thermos, which Bryan found amusing and absurdly thrilling. He experimentally lapped along the tangy slit and, with the bonus of Aaron appreciatively moaning, he readily swallowed down a new spurt of pre-come.

“ _So good_ ,” Aaron said.

He jolted up. His thigh muscles were rigid in place though still thrumming and jumpy with energy. “ _Oh…ah…almost there_.”

Bryan nodded and suckled harder. While a novice move, it was enough for Aaron to groan a guttural “ _Bryan”_ before coming hard in his mouth.

He took his time drinking in it, licking up what he could manage, and properly cleaning him until he let Aaron slowly slip his way out.

Bryan skimmed his hand up and down Aaron’s outer thigh and smiled. “Have any constructive criticism or input or notes here?”

“Other than amazing, not a one,” Aaron said. He was ruddy, and grinning, and ravishing. “Not a one, man. Not a one.”


	8. Chapter 8

Aaron had a fleeting thought that it was kind of weird that no one gave them any weird looks the rest of the shoot, even though it had been super obvious to those clapping crew members outside that he and Bryan had been doing vaguely dick-related things in his trailer. He was starting to question the meaning behind the hooted “About fucking time” more and more. But, those concerns weren’t exactly getting top billing because Aaron was _finally_ in bed with Bryan Cranston.

He fucking loved how that sounded: in bed with Bryan Cranston. While a totally glorious and succinct way to describe what was happening, it could have also labeled an entire genre of dreams he’d had for the past five years.

Aaron was naked. Bryan was naked. They were both _naked_.

It was hot in Bryan’s bedroom. The central heat quietly droned and plumed out a mugginess they’d been too busy to bother with or switch off. Aaron could feel the slide of sweat on sweat. He was on top, his hips gyrating down at a steady, trance-like pace. His hands were fitted flush around their cocks. The slippery _smack, slip, smack_ of their swollen skin getting leisurely rubbed slick together made Aaron feel like their bodies were, as always, three steps ahead of them, desperately welcoming that craving to fuse together. He could imagine a cobalt flame as translucent as Blue Sky soldering flesh to flesh, joining joint to socket. It was like he could feel a pull on that soul-tug he’d been trying to ignore for way too long.

Bryan’s massive hands, always captivating Aaron for some reason, were heavy on Aaron’s ribs. They weren’t there for any guidance or directing or anything like that. It was just like Bryan wanted to hold him and Aaron couldn’t help being smitten as hell by it.

Bryan was lazily smiling up at him. He looked _so_ done for already.

Aaron scooted farther down the bed where the sheets and comforter had been kicked aside and unintentionally bundled together because he didn’t need props like leather interior or limo mini-bars to motivate the way his mouth was practically watering. He pulled his hands away to part Bryan’s thighs.

\-----

Bryan was somewhat perplexed watching Aaron snail his way down the linens. His torso felt severed up and open, organs laid tender and exposed like Aaron was playing Operation and then decided to stop with Bryan’s heart unsteadily dangling between the metal sides, everything vibrating painfully all the while.

The most he could formulate verbally was a weak, “Where are you going?”

But, his legs were drawn apart. Then he simply waited for whatever it was that Aaron wished to do next, knowing that _anything_ would be phenomenal.

Aaron stared at him with a blatantly smug smile so wide Bryan could see the gums above his teeth. His hands went flat on the mattress.

“Let’s see how much I remember this,” he said.

He leaned forward and kissed the head of Bryan’s cock; breath like steam, and another kiss. He took Bryan in nearly half-way, paused, bobbed up and down, sucked noisily, then glided forward with a soaked, _blissful_ pressure and heat. He retained eye contact the _entire_ time.

“ _Oh, oh, oh shit_ ,” Bryan moaned.

He knew then that he needed to have a serious discussion with both the creative team and production crew of his mind because none of their elaborately crafted setups had prepared Bryan for the actual, blood-pumping reality of what Aaron was doing. Aaron’s nose was practically nuzzling his pelvis with those downright delicious lips of his snug around the actual damn hilt of Bryan’s dick.

“It…it looks like,” he said. It was difficult to sound snarky with Aaron swirling his tongue along the underside of his cock. But, Bryan was going to be persistent. “It looks as if I’ve finally discovered…something…you’re better at than me.”

He may have snickered. Bryan wasn’t so sure with Aaron’s mouth obstructed. Though the aftershock tremors of whatever it was flared out an intoxicating feeling from the calloused heels of his feet all the way up to the base of his skull.

His hips shot up. Before he could apologetically lower them, Aaron was ravenously gulping and returning to that mesmerizing up-and-down and cupping his ass with a strong grip. Bryan took that as his cue to thrust back up, sink against the sheets, and pivot up into the tightness of Aaron’s throat that threatened to make him blackout like a fastball to the back of the head.

He felt something stiff and damp start thumping him on the knee. Aaron was _humping_ his leg. It was too much. Feeling he had a frighteningly limited window available here, he moved Aaron away by the forehead with a wet _plop_ and air on his even wetter dick.

Bryan lurched over to the nightstand and swiftly fished out his recently purchased K.Y. along with a condom. Sitting back against the headboard, he genuinely felt the room spin. He fisted the sheets, and tried not to asphyxiate on the sight of Aaron still on his knees, happily licking pre-come from his lips.    

Aaron quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “You gonna fuck me, Cranston, or what?”

\-----

The top of Aaron’s head knocked against the wooden frame of the bed, and Aaron couldn’t have given any less shits. Bryan had an arm on either side of him with Aaron on his back now. He was _slamming_ Aaron into the mattress, rough like Aaron wanted it, like they’d been doing this since forever.

He felt the headboard smack into him again. It made him go a little dizzy. But, he had to chalk at least seventy percent of that up to Bryan plunging inside him. Aaron didn’t want to get weird, but Bryan was a big dude. Aaron felt like every part of him was awesomely full and more solid than ever.

The next bang to his skull made his jaw ache, and Aaron winced.

Bryan grabbed the closest pillow and slid it behind Aaron’s head, rubbed Aaron’s scalp, and peppered kisses down the side of his face.

“Sorry,” Bryan said between thrusts. “I swear my intent is not…to _literally_ fuck your brains out.”

Aaron laughed and he could feel Bryan’s smile against his neck.

And it was awesome how Aaron felt like he was getting so thoroughly fucked yet totally adored by Bryan. He wanted to stay here, underneath him, just enveloped in this feeling that was way more than onscreen chemistry or sex. _Shit,_ he loved this man.

It had been maybe ten or so years since he’d done something like this, though it was with Bryan now, so it was like comparing pickled beets to meat lover’s pizza: no fucking competition.

When Bryan had managed his shaky hands enough to get the rubber on, and everything was all copasetic and greased up and whatnot, he had kissed Aaron while he maneuvered himself on top of him. He’d started out with languid pushes.

With his lips by Aaron’s ear, Bryan was panting. “I’ve…never done…this with a man before.”

“Doing great, man,” Aaron said. He lifted up a little, just fucking _soaking_ in just how _great_ Bryan felt inside of him, and smiled. “You know…like biology wise…it’s pretty similar with a dude that it is with a girl.”

Bryan chuckled. “Just let me know…if you’re in any pain. I know it’s been…a while for you.”

“It’s like a riding a bike. Except…I’m the bike. And, the dude…riding me…is the hottest, most amazing…loving man…I’ve ever fucking met.”

Yeah, that was _about_ the time shit got insanely real.

He was fucking Aaron _so_ hard it actually _was_ starting get painful in that nice, _deep_ tissue massage kind of way. It was deeper than muscles and tissues, like Bryan had found his way to organs, making Aaron feel awesomely queasy in his gut.

Bryan had a hand between them, wildly jerking Aaron off, which was kind of unnecessary considering Bryan’s dick was jabbing his prostate with about every two or three awe-inspiring thrusts. The first time he’d found it, Aaron had sort of yelped.

Bryan gloated all smug and grinning. “Anyone ever tell you…you sound…just like a puppy in bed?”

Aaron would have felt kind of embarrassed, but _damn,_ he couldn’t feel annoyed with the shit Bryan was doing to him. So, he made another whimper-y noise. Aaron could feel Bryan sort of lose his target a little. Bryan twisted his face up, changed his angle, and muttered, “Slippery son of a bitch.”

Aaron laughed again with his hands dug into the muscles of Bryan’s back, the ones he’d seen on set so many times and fantasied about like it was his job. With one more intense snag to his sweet spot, Bryan nipping at his jaw, Aaron felt all the pressure and tension and _want_ building up hot beneath his skin until it was simmering him from the inside out. And it was like his orgasm boiled over as he splashed out on Bryan’s chest.

“ _Shit, Bryan. So fucking good_ ,” he said.

Bryan lasted maybe two or three more sloppy shoves before he was quivering and breathing _super-hard_ in the crook of Aaron’s neck. His hands were a reassuring caress up and down Aaron’s sides.

Aaron chuckled. “Hey, man, you _really_ do sound like a donkey.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Bryan said.

He clapped the side of Aaron’s face, beaming down at him with his hair sweaty and his chest rising and falling like he’d been on a run.

“At least you sound like a _sexy_ donkey.” Aaron smiled.

“Sexy donkey? _Ah_ ,” he said with a smirk. He eased his way out though he was still very much hovering over Aaron, maintaining that skin-to-skin contact Aaron didn’t want ending for as long as possible. “I’m getting the feeling that I haven’t quite heard just _all_ of your early L.A. stories yet.”

“ _Gross_.” Aaron laughed.

“Speaking of gross,” Bryan said. He glanced down at the jizz kind of all over him. “You up for a bath? Perhaps a bath and a little of the frozen eggnog I’ve been saving in my freezer.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “What kind of robot are you? I can barely get a carton back to my place from the grocery store. What are you saving eggnog for?”

Bryan playful patted his cheek again. “ _You,_ of course.”

“Fucking sweet,” Aaron said.

He was grinning like a crazy man, and not just because he consumed mass quantities of eggnog like the stuff was crystal. It was just like Bryan knew him almost better than anybody. Plus, you know frosty spoons of eggnog and bathtub sex with Bryan seemed like a pretty magical idea.

\-----

Aaron, wearing nothing but Bryan’s ill-fittingly loose grey sweat pants, was sprawled across Bryan’s sofa like a disheveled, drowsy dream-come-true in the pinkish early dawn. He was watching one of those ridiculous infomercials trying to hawk a revolutionary vacuum or something, nibbling on a slice of pizza, laughing out loud to himself.

Bryan propped his elbows on the back of the couch. Aaron turned to him, sleepily blinking, and slightly lifted his face up. Bryan thumbed Aaron’s cheek. He loved how Aaron seemed to light up underneath his touch, made him feel so damn lucky. Aaron tilted his face up even more, smirking, clearly waiting for something. So, Bryan leaned forward and kissed him. And, Bryan wholeheartedly hoped he could spend many more glorious mornings _just_ like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end! Thank you so so much for reading this and commenting! Merry Christmas and Happy New Years :)


End file.
